


Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

by smarmsi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Chat Noir To The Rescue, F/M, Hurt Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Identity Reveal, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Psychological Trauma, Soul Bond, i guess? Chat has nightmares about it, ladybug and chat have no idea whats happening, marinette almost dies, miraculous magic, the miraculous act up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarmsi/pseuds/smarmsi
Summary: Marinette gets critically injured. Chat Noir would give anything to save her. Plagg takes him up on that offer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't really have anything to do with the story, but [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX44CAz-JhU) song was stuck in my head while I was writing the first chapter.
> 
> -  
> Got an idea for an au? Want to spit headcanons at me? Hit me up on [tumblr](http://smarmsi.tumblr.com/)!

Chat’s voice is distant and echoes strangely in Marinette’s ears. She thinks he might be panicking. She should probably be panicking too, but her body won’t respond properly to her brain.

“—nette, stay—” She turns her head to look at him. The slight movement shifts her torso and sets the left side of her on fire. It _burns_ , more than anything she’s ever felt in her life, and she’s only aware that her body has seized up when Chat’s hand pushes against her shoulders.

“—tte, stop moving so—” But her vision blurs and she can’t tell if it’s from pain or tears. Her lungs won’t work, she can’t breathe, she _can’t breathe_ , the world has shrunk to the pain that scorches her side, crackling across her skin and leaving burns in its wake. Her hands are warm, too warm, and wet, and some part of her brain is clear enough to think, _that’s blood. That’s my blood._

Oh god. She’s going to die.

xx

The akuma is still rampaging around the streets of Paris, but Chat is here, knees and hands and chest soaked in Marinette’s ruby-red blood, unable to do a thing as moremore _more_ flows from the gaping wound that’s been slashed diagonally across her body. It’s deep enough that Chat can see—oh god, he has to press a forearm to his mouth to keep from vomiting—he can see her ribs, shattered and sharp. Her lung must be punctured, if the way her breath is shallow and stuttering is any indicator.

“Marinette, we have to—” get to a hospital, stop the bleeding, _fix you_. But he can’t move her, can’t leave her, can’t fix her. Can’t do _anything_ but watch.

Oh god, he’s going to watch her die.

No. There has to be something he can do! Ladybug isn’t here yet, but maybe her charm will fix it—it’s always fixed everything—but it’s never been like _this_. No one has ever been hurt this badly before. No one has _died_ before.

Oh _god_.

His gaze catches on the tears tracking down her cheeks and their shine entrances him, pushes out the thoughts screaming for him to do _something, anything, stop staring and save her_! Everything goes quiet like the second before a lighting strike.

Her cough is thunderous, blood and spittle flying from her mouth. Chat snaps out of his reverie and suddenly she’s choking on her own blood, gasps sounding wet and ragged.

_Her lungs are filling_ , a voice says. Not his. Plagg’s. _She is going to die unless you help her._

“What do I do, how can I—” He’s desperate, and now there’s someone else here, someone who can help, can _fix this_.

_Put your right hand on her wound and press_.

Marinette _screams_ , the sound hoarse and strangled. Her body strains against him.

_Harder_.

“I’m pressing as hard as I can!”

_Adrien, what would you give to save her?_ He knows the question should chill him to his bones, but Marinette’s blood is flowing too hot around his fingers for him to feel anything but desperate.

“Anything. I would give anything.”

_Good_. A brilliant green light bursts from beneath his hand, burning hotter than her blood and blinding him. He turns away but doesn’t move his hand, instead presses it harder against her until he’s sure the pressure will collapse her lung. 

The sound she lets out is nearly _animal_ , desperate and painful and broken and _that_ chills him; he knows he will not forget that sound.

Chat feels the softest little _snap_ ; and then the light and burning is gone, and there’s no blood on her lips or her side or his hands and she’s _alive_.

Chat’s hands tremble as they pull at her shirt, no longer shredded, but her skin is unblemished, stretching tight across her unbroken ribs and twitching at the touch of his hands.

The only sign of the past five minutes is a fresh pink scar the length of his pinkie that follows the line of her ribcage. It sends a spark up his arm when he brushes it with his thumb, and Marinette gasps.

His flinch is involuntary and he nearly scratches her with how fast he yanks his hand away. She’s staring at the scar with wide eyes that turn to him in an instant.

“What…” she starts, but his expression must look as lost as hers. “You…”

The akuma roars from wherever it is, and the sound yanks them back to their present situation. Chat scoops Marinette into his arms and leaps, barely even looking. He has to get her out of here, has to keep her safe, has to—

“ _Chat!_ ” He nearly stumbles as the roof comes to meet him quicker than he had anticipated, but stays upright. A breath whooshes out of him. Marinette struggles to get down, but his arms tighten around her. He drops down to an alley and finally lets her go.

“Stay here,” he says. “Or find another place to hide. Do _not_ get in the akuma’s way.” With that, he leaps back onto the rooftops and heads toward the shouting.

Ladybug eventually shows up to help him, but they’re both off their game today. Chat knows he’s distracted, but Ladybug seems dazed as well. More than once, they nearly slam into each other while trying to attack.

He tries desperately not to think about anything every time he catches sight of Ladybug’s ( _redredred_ ) ruby-red suit.

(It doesn’t work.)

There’s no sassy retort by Ladybug when the akuma is finally beaten. She barely even acknowledges the butterfly that flutters up from her yoyo.

As soon as he can, Chat fumbles out an excuse to leave and races back to the alley where he left Marinette. His gut drops when she isn’t there, but he reassures himself that she must have gone home, that she is safe and wrapped up in blankets, or eating warm pastries with her parents, _safe_.

He gets all the way back to his house and lands on his windowsill before he remembers the wet heat of Marinette’s blood beneath his palms and turns right back around.

He still isn’t sure it wasn’t all just a dream, possibly some new akuma ability. Make nightmares seem like reality; that would be a good way to steal a miraculous. But Plagg wouldn’t have gotten involved if it was just a nightmare, which means…

Marinette really had been dying.

And he had saved her, somehow. He needs to talk to Plagg about what happened, _definitely_ , but later. First, Marinette.

He lands on her balcony and taps quietly on her skylight. Anxiety creeps up on him as he waits for a reply. What if she hadn’t made it home? What if whatever fixed her undid itself? What if—what if she was bleeding out in an alley somewhere?!

The hatch unlocks and lifts to reveal Marinette, who is breathing and safe and _alive_. Good. 

But…

How can he be sure? If the akuma could make nightmares reality, could it make dreams reality too? What if this is all a trick?

Plagg grumbles something at him about common sense and _not possible_ , but he isn’t listening.

“Can I…” he says.

She moves to allow him room to come inside, but he only registers the fact that she is moving away from him and that is very suddenly _not_ okay, she could be injured and dying and he wouldn’t know—

He launches himself at her and Marinette grunts when they land on her bed, bouncing a little. Her pulse is quick against his cheek where it presses against her neck, and he wraps himself tighter around her. Something that’s been clenched tight at the base of his spine finally begins to unfurl.

“Um…Not that I’m…not glad to see you,” Marinette starts, “but, uh.” Right. Too close.

( _Not close enough_ , says something in his hind brain.)

(Chat ignores it.)

He pulls back, apologies ready. “Sorry, I just—”

“No!” Marinette interrupts, hands fluttering. “No, it’s fine, really. Just…shouldn’t we talk? About—what happened?”

He stares at her. “I have no clue, to be honest.”

She frowns. Chat watches the muscles in her brow furrow. _She’s alive_ runs like a mantra through his skull. “Really? Your…what do you call it? Gwamy? Didn’t say anything?”

“How do you know about the kwami?” He asks, freezing up.

“Oh! I—well, I know Ladybug. It slipped out once, so she explained a little bit to me. I haven’t told anyone!” Marinette flutters her hands again. Right, she and Ladybug are friends. Chat relaxes.

“Oh. Okay. And no, I haven’t had a chance to talk with him yet. I was going to after I made sure…” you were safe. That this wasn’t all just a nightmare. His fingers travel without his consent to that spot on her ribs, brushing the fabric and feeling the heat of her body through it. Something zips through him again.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and he pulls his hand away, about to apologize for once again invading her space, when she speaks. “It feels weird when you do that.” She’s glancing down at where his hand still hovers over her ribcage.

“What?” 

“When you touch it. It gets really…tingly. Like pins and needles but not painful?” She makes a noise. “I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s definitely you. My mom hugged me earlier and nothing happened, but it happened when you first touched it too.” 

“Huh. Weird.” He hesitantly places his hand back on her side, and she hums again. “Maybe it’s something to do with the miraculous? Since fixing isn’t normally my thing,” he says, and even as he says it he knows it’s true. Marinette tenses.

Abruptly, he pulls back and stands. He _really_ needs to talk to Plagg about this. 

Marinette glances at him. “I’m going to talk with my kwami and get back to you. I just wanted to make sure…” she nods, movement jerky.

“Thanks for…doing whatever you did. I don’t remember much, really, but it was hurting a lot and then it...wasn’t. Thanks for saving me.” Her lips quirk up, too strained to be a smile, but there nonetheless.

“Yeah,” and his voice sounds weird, garbled. He swallows and tries again. “Yeah, no problem. It’s my—” –the sight of her side, torn and bloody, flashes in his vision and his stomach heaves– “my pleasure.” His smile matches hers.

He doesn’t wait until she’s closed the trap door before he leaps away. He barely makes it to the nearest alley before the contents of his stomach meet the pavement.

xx

“ _Tikki_ ,” Marinette hisses as she locks the sky light, panic rising. The kwami pops up from the basket where she’d hidden. “Tikki, what—” she flaps her hand at her side, “what is all of this? What is happening?” She tries and fails to keep the fright out of her tone.

The kwami had barely been able to get a word out after they got back before Chat was knocking. Now, the serious expression on her face has Marinette tensing. Is she dying? Did Chat do something bad?

“It’s…it’s hard to explain, Marinette,” Tikki says. “It’s very old magic, and it hasn’t been done in a long time.” Marinette’s nose flares and she takes a deep breath.

“Did—why does it feel weird when Chat touches it? What—tell me what’s _going on_ ,” she says, fear shooting like a bullet down her spine and slamming against her gut. Her entire body is trembling. “What do you mean—”

“There’s a piece of Chat’s soul embedded in that scar.” 

“…What?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic attacks and nightmares abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think this is the norm for updates, I do have school to do. I'm just avoiding it currently.  
> Guh, I feel like a space cadet. Does anything even happen in this chapter? I have no clue anymore. I've stared at this for too long.
> 
> -  
> Tumblr [here](http://smarmsi.tumblr.com/).

“Kid.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Don’t think about—stop _thinking_. The world has narrowed to the inseam of his jeans and how it folds over itself at his knee. A thread is loose.

“ _Kid._ ”

Adrien forces his lungs to fill with air, but it doesn’t help. Static blankets his mind, filling his ears with gray noise and beneath it all is a chaotic mess of red blood and green light and blue eyes and—

“ _Adrien_.” It grabs his attention. ( _What would you give?_ ) Plagg hovers at eye level, eyes dark with worry and ears flicked back.

“My _soul_?” It comes out a squeak.

“Not all of it,” Plagg says, words pushing from his mouth like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Not even like, one percent of it. Maybe,” he squints at Adrien, “half a percent? It’s not enough to do much. You’re going to be fine. Stop panicking.” His voice is taut.

Of course, when someone tells you to stop panicking, you usually panic more. Plagg should know this, Adrien thinks distantly, but he’s more focused on the fact that his lungs aren’t _working_. His head thumps against the cool brick of the alley where his transformation had run out.

“Adrien, we need to get home. I’m weak and you need to clear your head.” Plagg bumps against his cheek, trying to get him up. “It’s not safe to talk about this here.”

The danger of the situation pushes him to his feet, unsteady but determined. He can do danger. Danger is familiar, danger is predictable—

He sways, vision smearing green. Somewhere behind him, Plagg yelps. For a second, he thinks wildly that he’s transformed again, but realizes it’s just a blood rush from standing too fast. He takes a deep breath that makes it worse, grimaces, and squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth tastes like something rotted in it.

By the time they get back to Adrien’s house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, his breathing has regulated and he feels a little less like the world is going to crush him. He sags onto the couch, exhaustion suddenly rolling over him like waves in the ocean.

“Plagg.” He can’t get any more words out.

“It’s called a Reverse. It’s ancient, almost as old as me, and honestly, I’d forgotten about it until now.” A shuffling noise comes from near Adrien’s desk, but he doesn’t turn to look. “In times of great need, _ay-kay-ay_ , your girl almost dying, the miraculous can flip its designation. It’s not sustainable for long, though, or else it’ll shred your soul.” Adrien makes a high noise and Plagg rushes to say, “Yours is fine! Not shredded, not even a little. Just don’t make a habit of doing it, or it’ll be in pieces all over Paris’ mortal dimension. And that would be... _not_ good.”

Very suddenly a thought pops into Adrien’s incredibly tired brain. “Like a horcrux,” he mumbles.

Plagg’s head peeks at him over the edge of the couch. “Did you say something?”

“Like a horcrux,” he repeats, and the sheer impossibility of the situation hits him and he gasps out a laugh, more to keep himself sane than because it’s funny. “Oh my god, I made a horcrux. I’m the new dark lord,” and the laughter is high and unhinged, and Plagg is looking at him like he’s gone insane. Maybe he has.

“From Harry Potter? Voldemort splits his soul so he can’t die and gets more power,” he explains. Plagg’s expression darkens.

“This isn’t funny, kid. It’s old magic, and old magic always comes with a price. You traded part of your _soul_ to help this girl—you better hope she’s trustworthy, otherwise you’re gonna be in—” Halfway through Plagg’s little speech, Adrien’s laughter has shaken apart. 

He’s wheezing now, the sound rough and frantic. Plagg is saying something but Adrien can’t focus enough to understand it. He’s—his soul—he gave part of his _soul_ —Marinette—what even—how—is he going—

A _crash_ snaps his attention to where his TV now lies shattered on the floor. He gapes at it. Plagg zips back to him and tries to make his frustrated face, but his eyes are too strained for it.

“Kid, you really need to stop thinking.” Adrien’s hands are shaking. His entire body feels weak, and he’s still not breathing correctly. “Get some sleep.”

“You need food,” he says. He’s not sure he can stand.

“I’ll find something. At least close your eyes.” 

Adrien does as he’s told, and only has time to think that he won’t be able to sleep at all before the events of the day catch up to him and he’s out like a light.

xx

Her mother has drilled into her the importance of sleep even before Marinette started staying up late to work on projects. _Your brain needs time to process and organize everything_ , she would say, tapping Marinette lightly on the forehead, _and you can’t be in there while it’s doing that_. Marinette likens it to her father stocking the pantry—as a kid, she’d always be underfoot, and nothing would get done.

Marinette really wishes that her brain would just toss _this_ in the corner of the pantry and leave it to rot, though. 

She’d woken violently, phantom pains lacing her side and unable to breathe. The scar still burns, even though she’s been awake for a half hour, huddled under the blankets on her bed and resolutely not thinking about the reason she woke up.

What had happened today…it was like being dunked in an ice bath and then immediately placed in a hot tub. Her head was spinning. Had anything actually happened? Was it all a dream? But no—she remembers the pain, the burning, the fear—

And above all, the ice of realizing her death was about to occur.

 _How many teenagers can say they’ve looked death in the face_ , she wonders. And then, _is that something to be proud of?_

Suddenly the blankets feel like lead on her legs and torso and she has to get out, has to _move_ , she can’t breathe like this—

She’s out on her balcony before she’s even aware that she’s done it. The cool night air feels as though it’s blowing right through her, but she doesn’t go back to get a blanket.

She doesn’t know how long she’s out there before a quiet noise grabs her attention. She whips around to see Chat’s silhouette half-hidden behind the chimney that stretches above her balcony and finds herself relaxing.

“Good evening,” she calls out, and the silhouette shifts, Chat dropping down to her level a second later.

“If you consider two o’clock in the morning evening,” he responds, and then just…lingers there, ten feet away. She eyes the gap between them. For some reason the desire to physically pull him closer surges through her.

“I won’t bite, kitty.” Taking the hint, he steps to her side, hands gripping tight on the railing. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, “thought a night patrol might help.” But he hadn’t contacted Ladybug. And his usual patrols didn’t take him past Marinette’s house. (She had made sure of that.)

So. He had come to check on her.

A small part of her brain is alarmed at the realization and immediately starts listing scenarios where Chat lingering around her house could go _very_ badly, but the majority of it is filled with an overpowering sense of relief that she doesn’t fully understand. It’s like a balm to her overactive mind, though, and almost immediately she feels her body start to sag in exhaustion.

“I was going to come tomorrow, but since we’re here…” he continues. Ah. He wants to discuss the...Tikki had called it a Reverse. “I talked with my kwami. I won’t say too much, but…” and here he hesitates. Marinette wonders if he’s going to tell her she’s got a piece of his soul sealed in the scar. She still doesn’t know what to think or how to feel about that. 

“Pretty much, the miraculous magic flipped itself and was able to heal you because I needed it to. It rarely happens, but when it does, it…there’s some residual magic.” 

Well, okay. Fair enough. She had no clue how she was going to give a convincing reaction anyway. “It won’t affect you much, but I need you to not tell anyone what happened. Ladybug’s probably given you the talk already, but it’s best to keep our abilities hidden if we can, to give us an advantage against Hawkmoth.” He shifts to look at her.

“She did,” she murmurs, just as the wind picks up. “I won’t say anything.” A few pieces of her hair drift past her face, catching on her lips and eyelashes. She reaches up to swipe at them, but Chat beats her to it, his clawed hand delicate as he smooths the wisps away and tucks them behind her ear.

His touch spreads warmth over her skin and something about it reminds her of stepping into the bakery, or wrapping herself in blankets on a cold day. The churning in her gut that’s lingered since he left her in the alleyway finally settles and she can’t help the way she almost _melts_ into it.

Chat jerks his hand away.

His face is flushed red. Hers must be too, now that she’s realized the situation. A pause.

“Um, well, it’s late!” She squeaks out. “I should probably get back to bed!” He nods vigorously.

“Yep, I’ll leave you to it.” A salute and then he’s gone over the rooftops. Marinette rubs her fingers absentmindedly over the scar before realizing it’s radiating an unnatural warmth.

She’d care more, honestly she would, but Tikki is asleep and she should be asleep. Her brain is starting to lag enough that she thinks if she falls asleep now, she might sleep all the way to the morning.

She’ll tell Tikki tomorrow.

She’ll think about everything _tomorrow_.

xx

“ _Marinette!_ ”

Alya’s voice is _way_ too aggressive in Marinette’s opinion, but she turns to her best friend, vision still bleary from sleep. The girl is bearing down on her like an angry bear, nearly running down the school steps. Marinette’s brain pauses. Did she do something wrong? Should she run?

Marinette glances around for an escape route, just in case.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! What is _this_? Are you okay? Why didn't you _call me?!_ ” A phone is shoved in her face, the little charm swinging wildly and nearly smacking her. The screen is loaded to the Ladyblog, zoomed in on—oh. 

A half-blurred picture of Marinette collapsed in Chat’s arms.

It’s blurred because—Marinette swallows and lifts her eyes away. There's red. _Everywhere_.

Her face is twisted in a grimace, and Chat’s is ashen. The editor had missed some of the smaller splatters in the edges of the picture. Marinette’s mind is reeling, unable to think of an excuse. She hadn't realized how _bad_ it had been.

“I don’t know?” she replies instinctively. Alya yanks her phone back and scoffs. Ah. An idea reveals itself. “Yesterday I twisted my ankle trying to get away from the akuma. Chat helped me out. Why would someone take a photo of that and add gore to it, though?”

 _That’s not what happened that’s not what happened you_ know _what happened_ —

Alya’s expression morphs from suspicious to shocked to confused. She peers closer at the screen. “Huh.”

“You think I wouldn’t have told you if I got seriously injured? Alya,” Marinette chides. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you Chat saved me, but it was just a twisted ankle. Who submitted that pic, anyway?” Alya glances up at her, expression abashed. 

“Sorry, girl. I was just really worried, and then you didn’t _call_ and I thought maybe you had _died_ ," Marinette flinches, "and then I see you today and all that worry turned to anger.” She opens her arms, eyes wide in apology. Marinette smiles wanely and accepts the hug. It's nice until Alya's fingers brush past the scar when they pull apart and Marinette has to swallow back the stomach acid that burns in her throat.

Alya turns to look back at the photo, pinching with her fingers to zoom in close. “You know, it was submitted anonymously, already blurred out.” She makes a considering noise. “I’ll take it down and make a post about submitting gore and fake photos.” They turn to walk into the school, and Marinette's mind turns to more serious matters.

Someone had _seen_.

The hopeful part of her tries to rationalize. Maybe they hadn’t stuck around. Maybe they just snapped a quick pic when they saw blood? Some people were like that, right? She sighs. Those thoughts aren't realistic.

She has to assume someone beside her and Chat knows about the Reverse. And if that information gets into the wrong hands—

She needs to tell Chat about this. As Ladybug. Her civilian identity is vulnerable to attack, and Tikki had told her that if someone with bad motives and the right tools gets ahold of that bit of soul…

Tikki hadn’t finished, but Marinette’s stomach had dropped anyway.

With a groan, Marinette swallows the panic that threatens to overwhelm her. She has to focus on school, even if school is at _rock bottom_ of things she cares about right now. She follows Alya into the classroom and stops short. Blinks.

Adrien is staring at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny little anecdote: in the first draft of this, I typed Hawkeye instead of Hawkmoth. I only caught it a few readthroughs later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends happen, and Marinette and Tikki finally have a full conversation that isn't cut off after Tikki drops a metaphorical bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be updating once or twice on the weekends from now on, depending on how much I can get written.
> 
> I know absolutely n o t h i n g about French schooling except for what came up with a quick google search, so just hand-wave, please?  
> I forgot to mention this in the first chapter, but they're all around 17 here, three years from the Origins timeline.  
> -  
> Tumblr [here](http://smarmsi.tumblr.com/).

The teachers had decided it when their class had entered lycée. Break up the cliques a little, force the teenagers to make new friends.

Everyone got shifted around to new seats—Nathaniel was forced to move to the second row, to his chagrin. Ivan finally got a desk-mate—Mylène. Only Chloe and Sabrina remained where they were. (Whether because the teachers wouldn’t risk the wrath of moving her or because they weren’t willing to subject another student to that, Adrien still isn’t sure).

Two years and Adrien is just now thinking that maybe the seat moving wasn’t such a good idea. Because—

How is he supposed to think when Marinette is _two feet from him?_

And yeah, okay, granted—she’s always a little distracting. Always has been, but Adrien’s gotten used to it! He’s acclimated! They’re friends! They pass notes sometimes!

But after yesterday...No. She’s fine. She’s right there, see? Staring at you.

Staring—!

Adrien slaps a bright smile on, hoping she hasn’t noticed. “Good morning, Mari!”

Her eyes sharpen and narrow, and Adrien thinks _hawk_. “That’s your model smile. What’s wrong? Is it your dad? Your schedule? Are you sick?” Alya takes her spot next to Nino as Marinette pulls her backpack off, letting it slump against the desk. Her eyes are still trained on him.

“No! Geez, Mari, I’m fine,” he laughs, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. She squints at him for a second more before _hmph_ -ing and turning to dig in her backpack for a pen.

“Adrien, you’ve got to hear this,” Alya says, waving her phone at him from where she’s been talking to Nino. “Someone snapped a pic of Marinette and edited it to make it look like she was bleeding!”

Confusion and alarm slam through him. “ _What_?”

“See, look—” she turns her phone to him.

“Alya, don’t show him that—!” Marinette grabs at the phone. Adrien only registers red on white, but his mind fills in what he couldn’t catch.

(Warm body warm blood dazed eyes wet cheeks wet hands—)

“What?” The word drops from his mouth without his permission. Marinette glares at Alya, cradling the phone to her chest.

“Someone saw Chat Noir rescuing me yesterday after I twisted my ankle during the akuma attack,” Adrien forces air through his nostrils, “and edited it to make it gory. You don’t want to see it.”

(He can’t un-see it)

“That’s kinda sick, man,” Nino says. “And not in the cool way. In the legit gross way.” Adrien glances at Marinette and takes in the hand gripping the phone, the catch of her breath. She offers the phone back to Alya and her fingers quake.

Adrien blinks.

“Yo, I wonder if you could sue,” Nino continues. “For defamation, or invading your right to publicity or something. Is there a law about minors and picture editing?” He taps his finger to his chin.

“No,” Alya says. “It was taken in a public place, I’m pretty sure there’s no grounds for a lawsuit. The gore, maybe, but it’s blurred anyway.”

“Guys, guys, I’m not taking legal action. It’s just a picture,” Marinette says. Her eyes are tight in the corners. Adrien wants to reach out and place his hand over hers where it clenches her pen.

“Sure, yeah,” Nino says, “But also—why the heck did someone edit a pic of you? And then submit it to the blog? Like, dude, that’s past weird.” He tips his chair back on its hind legs.

“Seriously,” Adrien murmurs, mind racing. Marinette glances at him, rubs at her side through her shirt—his mind stutters to a halt.

That’s her scar.

“Can we stop talking about this? Alya took it down already,” she says. Alya nods and taps at her screen.

“Well, what new place are we gonna try today?” Nino says. “And no more freakin’ maid cafés, Alya!” He points an accusing finger at her. “We don’t need to know about your kinks.”

“Aww,” Alya purrs, “shy little baby Nino, so inexperienced in the ways of the world!”

“Disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous the girls like me more.”

The conversation devolves into a petty argument between the two. Adrien turns to Marinette.

“Anywhere you want to go?” he asks. Marinette always has good ideas. Her last choice had been a bubble tea and ice cream shop right near the school, and Adrien had nearly died and gone to heaven.

She hums in thought. Her pen nib leaves little spots of black ink on the desk as she taps it.

“There’s a café that Juleka mentioned a few days ago, on the other side of the Seine. Apparently you can request all kinds of latte art, and there’s a lot of plants in the shop. We could pick up some pastries from the bakery and go,” she answers, turning to him with a bright expression. He grins.

“The owners will look at you funny if you bring outside food in.” Marinette rolls her eyes.

“As if the stuff they sell in cafes can be considered food.” Adrien’s laughter is part shock at the bold claim, part glee that she actually said it. “I’ve lived in a bakery my whole life, let me be picky, geez!” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and shakes her back and forth to antagonize her more. “You’ve tasted my parents’ food! Don’t laugh at me!”

“I have,” he agrees, and smoothly pulls away before he does something stupid, like drop his arm from her shoulders to her waist. “It’s amazing and I think the plan is genius. We can tell the other two when they stop being morons.”

Marinette giggles, and the sound sets the world back on its feet. “That’ll never happen.”

Mme. Bustier calls the class’s attention and begins the lesson, but Adrien find himself unable to focus. The situation with the picture forces itself to the front of his thoughts. A picture means someone was around to witness what had occurred, and had probably—definitely—stuck around longer.

Someone had seen the Reverse.

The person who had taken the photo likely doesn’t know what they saw, but _someone_ must know. If they find out…well.

Chat and Ladybug will have to hope that they’re friendly.

Adrien spaces out the entire period, unable to wrangle his mind away from the subject of the photo. Possibilities and scenarios flit through his mind like Hawkmoth’s butterflies, taunting him. He only notices class has ended when the other students start shuffling, pushing chairs and zipping backpacks. Marinette drags the wide spread of her notes close to start shoving them into her bag.

“You should really organize them, you know. You’d probably stop failing math if you did,” he says, poking her side to annoy her. She swipes at him and sticks her tongue out.

“Math is impossible, whether or not my notes are pretty,” she replies, standing and shrugging on her backpack. He rises as well, but sways for a moment as his vision greys out and the world tilts. He grabs the desk to steady himself.

“Adrien? You okay?” He squeezes his eyes shut, his head pounding like a hammer.

“Yeah, sorry. Stood up too fast.” He shakes his head once to clear it and smiles down at her. Her worried expression is really too cute. “I’m fine, seriously.”

“Okay. Well, I have to go beat Kim’s ass in volleyball now, so I’ll see you after lunch?” The sun peeks through the clouds at that exact moment, as though it has a personal vendetta against Adrien being functional today. It’s just enough to drape Marinette in a blaze of golden light, her eyes glittering like sapphires.

She flinches back a little, squints. “Ow, what the heck, sun?” He can’t help laughing.

“Yeah. I’ll see you after lunch.”

xx

“ _Oh_ my god. Oh my god. _Oh_ my _god_.” She tosses her pencil onto the table and collapses back into her chair.

“Don’t meme at me,” is Nino’s only reply. “You can meme when you get this concept down.” The noise Marinette makes is a cross between a horse and a wood-shredder. She drags her hands down her face.

“I don’t understand how you get all this stuff so easily,” is groaned out from behind her palms. Nino barks out a laugh.

“Easily? Mari, I’ve told you how much I have to think through it before it clicks.” He grabs her pencil and starts to twirl it, fingers flicking back and forth. “Besides, math is one of the only school subjects I actually like, so yeah it’s easier for me. Gotta make up for that lack of motivation everywhere else, right?” His grin is wide and sarcastic.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just really frustrated right now,” she says, refocusing on the problem in front of her.

“Sure, I get it. Talk through the steps out loud and I’ll see where you’re having issues.” In a smooth move, he stops twirling the pencil and presents it to her.

She tilts her head at him and plucks it from his fingers. “You know, I’ve said it before, but you’d make a really good teacher.” He laughs, and it drags against the fabric spines of the books surrounding them.

“And I’ve told you, working a job in a system I oppose ain’t my style. Besides, I’ve got my music. That’s all I need.” He smiles, but it’s pained.

“That’s fair,” she replies, and drops the subject. They work for a bit, Marinette stumbling through equations and Nino gently nudging her in the right direction. They’re one of the few people still in the library. The quiet of the space seems to loosen Nino’s jaw, because he sighs and Marinette knows he’s about to say something that won’t leave this room or her mouth.

“Sometimes I wonder if…” he pauses. His throat clicks. “If this is all life has for me.” She watches him and stays silent like she always does when he gets like this. His eyes are downcast. “I’ve got my music, and my films, and my passion, but…I don’t think that’s enough.”

His hands fiddle with the pages of the textbook in front of him, bending and folding. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks, resting her chin on her hand.

“It’s just, those things…what kind of job can I get and keep with ‘em? Passion can’t pay the bills. Art can’t pay the bills. And you all seem to have your thing, but I’ve…I’ve got nothing. Not really. I’m just a random assortment of skills that don’t mesh.” His sigh ruffles the loose sheets of paper on the desk.

Marinette hums. What do you say to something like that? “I think…you’re not alone, in feeling like that. Heck, _I_ feel like that. Especially with graduation getting close. But…Nino, you’ve got us. Whatever happens in the future, good or bad…Adrien, Alya, and I will be right there with you.”

He looks up at her and smiles, brown eyes caramel in the lighting. “That’s really fucking cheesy, Mari.” She glares at him and he reaches over to tug on a pigtail. “But…thanks. Now get back to that problem.” Marinette groans, louder and longer.

The beams of sunlight that illuminate the dust particles dancing in the air have moved about six inches when Nino shifts.

“How was practice?” he directs the question sideways, closing the textbook. Marinette looks up, smile already in place. Adrien stands at the door, duffle strap biting into his shoulder. He’s grinning.

“Tough. Coach is pushing us with the tournament so close. You’d think he’d want us rested, but whatever.” He shrugs. Marinette starts stacking her notes. “What, you stay organized for Nino but won’t for the rest of your classes?” She slides a gentle glare at him.

“ _Nino_ actually helps me, and I use these notes to study. _Class_ notes are just so the teachers don’t think I’m slacking.” He’s laughing at her again.

“You suggested a café, didn’t you?” Nino asks, sliding his backpack on. “Across the Seine?”

“Yep. You can request latte art, and they have even have an Instagram account for really interesting ones. Alya’s gonna love it.” They head to the front steps to wait for Alya, who’s texted in the group chat that she’s on her way after having had to watch her siblings until her father got home.

She’s frowning at her phone as she approaches them, and only glances up when Adrien calls her name.

“What’s up?” Marinette asks.

“That guy—or girl, I actually have no clue—that sent in the gore photo is making a giant fuss in the comments. I told them that I knew you and I knew it was fake, but they're pretty adamant.” She squints at Marinette. “Are you sure you didn’t get severely wounded yesterday? Maybe you hit your head and forgot?”

Marinette takes a breath, wishes this whole topic could just get dropped so she wouldn’t have to keep remembering it. “I’m definitely sure. I think I would remember that.”

“I thought so. They're offering to send me the original photo. Hah!” Marinette’s stomach plummets, but Alya just clicks her phone off. “We ready?”

They’ve just crossed the Seine when Nino snaps his fingers, interrupting Adrien’s rambling story about one of his teammates.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, Mari—some of the dudes I DJ with saw your design for my cover and thought it was rad! They wanted your contact info, but I told ‘em I’d ask you first, since you’re not really a business. Can I give out your info or should I tell ‘em to back off?” He holds up his fists in a fighting stance.

Marinette’s eyebrows shoot up. Even three years after designing the album cover for Rock Giant, an instant hit and still going strong, people complimenting her artwork is a surprise. “I-I mean—if they like my style, why not, right?”

“What do you mean ‘why not’? Mari, your art is amazing!” Adrien says, tossing an arm around her shoulders. “Of course they like your style! They’d be idiots if they didn’t.”

“Yeah, own it girl! Make ‘em beg for your number!” Alya adds, bumping her with a hip. “You’re awesome, don’t forget it!” she pumps her fist in the air. Marinette giggles.

“I’m really not _that_ good,” she makes the mistake of saying, but Adrien interrupts her.

“Nope, nuh-uh, there’s three of us here who think you’re incredible and only one who doesn’t. That’s three against one, we win by majority.”

“Yup, you’re on the losing side,” Nino adds. “I’ll give those guys your number and they’ll definitely agree with us. That’s _six_ against one.”

“And if you add Jagged Stone, that’s gotta be like, at least four, so that makes it ten against one,” Alya says, counting on her fingers. “And the four commissions you got last year, that’s fourteen.”

“My dad,” Adrien says, and Marinette squeaks. “That’s like, two or three. Just accept it, Mari,” he grabs her shoulders and turns her toward him. “You’re amazing and wonderful and brilliant, and lots of people love you.”

His eyes are _intense_.

Marinette’s face flames a brilliant red and she books it, flat-out running from her friends, their laughter echoing off the buildings that line the street and as dazzling as the sun glinting on the river. Her mind is screaming—

 _I thought we were over Adrien! What are you_ doing _, girl?!_

Marinette has no idea and would like people to stop asking her that. After that first disastrous year, she had cooled down around Adrien, enough to hold a civil conversation with him. And then they were made desk partners, and Marinette found out he was a _dork_ , and awkward, and needing friends more than anything, and Alya dragged Nino into their little group and Nino dragged Adrien and then _they_ were friends, suddenly—

 _Okay_ , so maybe the crush never really went away.

But she’s got other things to think about, she doesn’t need this! University applications! Akumas! The design competition! Patrols! Math! And more urgently, the Reverse and photo!

Marinette slows down, panting after her sprint. She looks back at her friends a block away. They wave and Alya shouts something unintelligible.

Well, she thinks. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

xx

Marinette’s mood sours as soon as Alya and Adrien turn right where she continues straight. Her friends’ figures disappear around the street corner and suddenly everything feels _wrong_ , like she’s fallen into a dimension where every object has been shifted left five centimeters.

She glares at the pavement where it is illuminated by the too-bright street lamps, yanking her coat closer as she walks. Pent-up energy skitters over her arms and across her back, coiling tight wherever fabric meets skin and quickening her steps.

She almost slams the apartment door shut when she gets home but catches it just in time, tearing at her clothes before she even reaches the door to her room. She throws her purse away from her and Tikki flies out before it lands on her chaise.

“Oh—sorry about that,” Marinette says, pausing with her shirt halfway off.

“It’s fine, Marinette. But you’re acting really strange,” Tikki answers, flying closer. Marinette continues to strip, only replying once she’s in her softest pajamas and started organizing the mess on her desk.

“Sorry, it’s just—I feel restless, everything is wrong all of a sudden.” She sets aside her nearly-finished design for the contest on Monday, a tiered dress with lace bodice that still needs sleeves, resolving to work on it once her mind isn’t so _chaotic_. Her colored pencils need organizing.

Tikki mumbles something but Marinette doesn’t hear because abruptly all the energy beneath her skin focuses itself on a central point—the scar. Her breath catches.

She fills her lungs with fresh air and turns to her kwami. “Tikki,” she says. The kwami’s eyes are dark and endless, and Marinette finds herself unable to hold their gaze. “What _exactly_ do you know about souls?”

Her tail flutters. “There’s a lot I know that I can’t tell you, Marinette.” Marinette purses her lips.

“But what _can_ you tell me?”

Tikki looks at her in silence. Neither move.

A cat’s yowl echoes from the alleyway below, and the kwami sighs, acquiesces. “Ask your questions and I’ll try to answer them—but this type of thing hasn’t happened in centuries, Marinette, so I may not know, or you may not like the answer.”

“Alright. Why does the scar burn?”

Tikki hums and floats a little to the left. “Souls—Ka, really—like being whole, so when Chat touches the scar, it’s reacting to that, kind of…like a magnet, I suppose.”

“What about when he isn’t touching it?”

Tikki frowns at her. “That…I don’t remember that ever happening. When do you feel it?”

Marinette shrugs and takes a seat on her chaise. “Just randomly.” Tikki taps a paw to her chin. “What did you mean by Ka? What is that?”

“Ka is…it’s the ancient Egyptian word for ‘life spark,’ one of the aspects they believed that made up the soul. That’s what Chat gave you—a bit of his life spark.”

“Were the Egyptians right? About souls?”

Tikki’s smile is small and mysterious. “I can’t tell you that. Spoilers,” she says. Marinette sighs.

“Okay…so why does all this make Chat vulnerable? You said it could be dangerous.”

“It is. Ka is…unique to the person, and it doesn’t mix. So his Ka hasn’t dissolved into yours; it’s more, hmm, more like a band-aid. It’s on the surface, like your scar. I can’t sense anyone’s Ka but yours, but there are some who can. It’s easy to grab on to.”

“Grab?” Marinette imagines filthy, clawed nails scratching at her scar, digging deep. She shivers.

“Mhmm.” She waits for Tikki to continue, but the kwami seems finished with the topic.

“So you can’t sense anyone else’s Ka?”

“Nope. It’s part of what makes you able to use the miraculous, actually. The amount of Ka you have—the strength of your soul—affects your abilities. You,” she flits closer to gently tap Marinette on the nose, smile wide, “have a _very_ strong soul.”

Marinette is weirdly pleased at this—after all, it’s not something she can help. “Can that ever change?”

Tikki settles in her lap, looking up at her. “Not naturally, no. Sometimes, though…” Her entire body suddenly droops as though the weight of the sky has been placed on it. Marinette has to look away from the ancient grief that sleeps in those blue eyes.

“We call it the soul sickness. Humans haven’t discovered it yet, so we don’t know the cause or cure. It’s…” She takes a shaky breath.

“It’s unpredictable, Marinette. It spreads like a virus, eating away at their Ka until there’s nothing left but an empty shell. It _destroys_ them, and Plagg and I—” her voice goes hoarse, and Marinette’s heart rends itself in two at the whispered words.

“We can _never_ save them.”

And what can Marinette say to that? How can she possibly comfort a centuries-old god who’s seen hundreds of ladybugs in her lifetime, and lost all of them?

So she says nothing, cups the little kwami in her hands, and holds her close. She can’t understand, but she _can_ be there for the one that’s given and taught her so much, and changed her life in such an amazing way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how artists take a break from art and end up making more art? It's the same thing with writers.
> 
> I think I made five or six half-baked AUs this week to avoid thinking about this story.

**Author's Note:**

> again, tumblr is [here](http://smarmsi.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! :)


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